


I Had to Face the Who Am I, Who is She, What Did I Do?

by AbbyDebeaupre



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Canon Compliant, Echo one shot, Gotham's Writing Workshop, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 18:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14195160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbyDebeaupre/pseuds/AbbyDebeaupre
Summary: I have had carnal knowledge of your wife.  A JoJamAire threesome.





	I Had to Face the Who Am I, Who is She, What Did I Do?

**I had to face the who am I, who is she, what did I do?**

  


John came awake in slow, painful degrees, wishing he could turn back to a dream world, a world in which he able to live openly, where Jamie was still alive and might be his. _Who am I?_  

 

The sound of an unexpected sigh from the body lying next had his eyelids snapping open. The stabbing pain of the sun through the glass forced them closed. _Who is she?_

 

As he willed his memory to surface, the events of the night came flooding back to him. _What did I do?_

 

He snorted. He’d slept with _his_ wife. Jamie’s wife. _Their_ wife. Down the hall lay the room of his son. Jamie’s son. _Their_ son.

 

Scheisse!

 

Was Willie home? He thought it unlikely but had no idea in actuality. He breathed through his momentary desire to vomit. Sex with Claire, making love to Jamie through her body, had been the most singular experience of his life. His fingertips quivered and a flush tinted his cheeks.

 

They’d been hungry, so hungry and so ripe for it. She’d made a sudden movement, sure and calculated and he’d met her in equal fever. Pieces and parts of the night came back to him in uncertain focus.  

 

He remembered how it started, at least. He’d finished refilling her glass, expecting nothing so much as her company. Their grief consuming both of them. John had left Claire largely to her own devices since they wed, but that evening at dinner, he hadn’t liked the look in her eye. He’d married her for love of Jamie and was proving a poor protector if he allowed her to simply waste away mourning him. Or worse, he’d caught her looking longingly at the scalpels in the medicine box he’d given her. He thought she just might do it one day. She had the certain knowledge and the devil’s own courage.

 

One minute the glass was on her lips, the next, she’d pinned him against the dresser and was ripping at his robe.  It had been a long time, a very long time since he’d felt that kind of heat and want. The _need_ of her stole his breath.

 

Once in the middle of a long ago night, under Hal’s roof no less, he’d heard Jamie Fraser  in the throws of a nightmare. Other sounds soon followed, restless waking, he’d hoped but couldn’t be sure and soi he hovered just outside the bedroom door, agonizing whether he should open it or not, wondering if Jamie needed help. Doubting his own rationalizations and therefore not deigning to act.

 

Just on the point of decision, he’d heard Jamie heave his body over on the bed trying to settle. In the immediate stillness after, Jamie’s whispered, aching wish snaked out from under the door and John heard the longing of his soul to be comforted by his wife.

 

He should have left then, but something held him rooted to the spot. Sleep for Jamie proved elusive, for shortly after, other noises emerged. Imagining the feel of her was enough to set him burning. Even from the other side of the door John could hear it, sense the power that brought him to his knees. At the end a different tone, raw and plaintive, as Jamie cried “Christ, Sassenach, I need ye!”  

 

For years he’d been consumed with jealousy whenever he thought of her. He had vague recollections of Red Jamie accosting the pretty, captive Englishwoman that long ago night in Corrieyairack. His rippling shoulders, those strong fingers anchoring to her breast, the press of his lower body against hers, the intimate dart of his tongue _inside_ her mouth.

 

In Ardsmuir, he could always tell when Jamie was thinking of her. Always. For his eyes would lose focus and his face would soften, a private smile would ghost his lips. He said her name only the once, the sound of a lover stroking his beloved.

 

Later, at Helwater, John’s subconscious had put together the secret of Willie long before the similarity of their appearance gave it credence because when Jamie looked at Willie, John knew he was thinking of _her_. It was that same tenderness, bittersweet with longing. Now that he’d met Brianna, learned about the daughter they’d lost, he understood it better, the intensity of emotion that kept him connected to his wife, clinging to what had been and what would never be.

 

Jamie was a robust and vital man, John had kept him under close watch first in Ardsmuir and then at Helwater and despite what he knew to be a passionate temperament, he simply didn’t engage in the sort of indiscriminate sexual activity that was common to most men. Geneva, yes that was obvious but Isobel set the record straight on that one. Not an affair and not even a situation of Jamie’s own making.  

 

Whatever intimacy Jamie had shared with his wife had been so powerful that it’s mere memory continued to exert unflagging loyalty. What was it about her that kept him panting for her touch long after her very bones had ground to dust? Last night he caught a glimpse of what it was that lay between them.

 

“Bastard!” She launched herself at him, pounding her fists into his chest. Shocked, he stood still as she cursed him. “Fucking, god damned, bloody, filthy, bastard! How the fuck could you do this to me?” By the fourth blow, he’d had enough. He grabbed her arms and squeezed her in a vice-like grip. He’d expected her to crumble, to fold in on herself in a crying, drunken mess and was wondering how to handle it in the morning when she started kicking him. He swiftly swung her around and moved them away from the dresser and backing her up against the wall. He used his body to pin her and restrict her movements.

 

Her eyes flared in interest, not a tear in sight. She tried to twist free and he pressed even harder. A small sound of desire this time, awareness that his grip would bruise and her satisfaction of it. He clenched tighter and flung her arms up over her head until she was stretched tight. Her breath came short-- very short, her breasts strained against their buttons. He pressed his erection harder against her and she whimpered.

 

“Is this what you want?” He demanded, only vaguely realizing he’d managed to inflect his voice with a Scottish accent, learned long ago in his youth when he had spent a great deal of time at a family home in the lowlands.

 

“Yes, damn you!” She’d spit out. Then she threw herself at him, her mouth hot and spicy with brandy, closing over his. Her teeth were an unexpected surprise, nipping his bottom lip tentatively, then more aggressively on his cheek, his chin, traveling down the long line of his throat and into the hollow of his neck. He kissed her back, mindlessly lost, bending down and inching the hem of her skirt slowly upwards.

 

“Please!” She urged stepping closer to him. He left the fabric trapped in a heap between them and pushed his thigh in between her legs. She rocked her hips and her arms started furiously working the buttons of her dress free.

 

“More!” She demanded and he wedged his leg more firmly against her, his hands steadying her. Claire huffed as her fingers gave up the struggle. She started ripping the bodice to be done with it.

 

“Like that is it?” John’s hands fisted the remaining fabric and on mighty yank ripped it fully off of her body. The sound of something being split in half echoed deep inside Claire. She moaned in relief, loosening his belt. He was naked underneath his banyan, and hard as a rock.  

 

John tugged on her hair enough for her to feel the sting and then kissed her hard and deep, using his tongue as he had seen Jamie do. He groaned when she pressed her nakedness full against his. Her arms came around him and her fingers dig into his back. He bit her neck experimentally.

 

“Hard--harder!” She urged.

 

The sensation of knowing he has pleased her causes his nipples to pucker up once more. He can feel hers as well as she rolls her firm body against him. His hands grip her ass tightly and he grabs ahold of her buttocks as he presses his cock against her cleft. She is slippery and hot, grunting as she rubs up and down his firm length. He is trapped helplessly between them, thick and taut, almost purple in color and much abused. That seems only fair, he considers, given how forcefully he is working her.

 

He is rough, far, far rougher than he has ever been with Isobel, more like how he would be with a man, with little concern that his movements might hurt. She wants the pain, craves it.

 

Jamie’s bittersweet smile flashes before him and he pushes her down on the rug by the hearth.  A surprised little scream bounces around his ears and he hopes Mrs. Figg is asleep.

 

 _Master me or let me your master be._  

 

The verse comes unbidden to his mind as now it was Claire who clutched his buttocks, her legs scissored his and her hips rose up in demand. For a moment he thought she was going to roll him and he sinks all his weight on her. Immobile she relaxed, sighing with her eyes closed. Fascinated, he waits. She is soft and wet in some places and hard and firm in others. Her chest heaving as she starts to squirm, in an agony of suspended anticipation.

 

“Don’t make me wait anymore.” She whispered, “Come to me!”

 

John teases her, flexing his pelvis. The heat of her had him closing his eyes, too, the better to feel it. She was insensible when he finally sank himself into her, filling her completely in one powerful thrust.

 

“Faster!” She demanded. “Don’t stop!” She spurs him on.

 

He pounds into her then, heedless of her nails and the lines they carve in his back or the desperate noises that explode from her lips. He rears up and rockets back, spreading her legs wide between assured hands. Her knees fall open, and he means to grip her inner thighs for purchase but one hand slips and a knuckle lands awkwardly on her mound. She hisses in surprise. Fascinated, John moves that fattened part of his finger against her again, this time with far more precision. Claire ‘s chest flushes pink as she arches her back, neck rigid, eyes squeezed tighter. John lunges forward even as his hand works between their bodies.

 

“I’m close. D-don’t be gentle!” She implores. He isn’t.

 

Claire is shaking as she comes hard on a long, thin wail. He can see tears rolling down her cheeks. Then she is grabbing at his thighs, hips meeting him in a frenzy that makes it impossible for him to catch his breath. He realizes she’s climbing once more and he’s not sure he can outlast her pace. He had heard women could do this, multiple times but chalked that up to bravado and ego.

 

Openly curious, he wonders how many times it can happen? Worried only about his own body spending too quick. Trying to prolong it, he falls heavily on top of her, moving tight against her then barely moving at all, giving his blood a chance to cool down and edge off.

 

She quiets instantly but he feels the subtle vibration of her body. Strung tight as a bow string and just as prone to snapping, he’d wager. Her body writhes once more, bucking in inquiry. Guided by instinct alone he forces all of his body weight on her, burying his sweaty head in the crook of her neck.

 

“Be still.” He grunts. Imagining he now had the situation well in hand.

 

_Master me or let me your master be._

 

“Or what?” Claire challenges.

 

My God! He thinks as she flexes her hips, and suddenly a vice like pressure deep inside her is rhythmically squeezing and releasing his cock, over and over pumping him so effectively he curses. Claire laughs with a sure confidence that tells him she’s on familiar footing in this game.He shudders imagining why that is.

 

Pretending for the first time not that Claire is Jamie but that _he_ is. Seeing that broad scarred back straining as his arms strain to hold himself self, arms that morph into Jamie’s, thick biceps, fine red hairs covering his forearms, tight, firm buttocks clenching and wanting.

 

This place, this mysterious cleft was the last place Jamie’s cock had been and he can suddenly feel it. Its length, its firmness, the way it angles and catches her, the way she grinds around it’s thickness. Claire is urgent now, grabbing his backside and bracing her feet on the floor for purchase. He gasps as he feels her plump, slick folds welcoming him inside.

 

“Oh Christ!” He breaths. He cannot hold himself steady. He pounds into her, bouncing against that one spot that makes her cry out every time he slams home. He swells improbably large now, his balls swing in heavy imitation of a cock he’s never seen but nevertheless knows intimately now. It fits her completely and she is getting even louder. His heart jams in his throat and his fingers start to tingle. She needs to come. She _has_ to come now or _he’ll_ die.

 

“I’m here. Come to me!”  He knows to sneak a hand underneath her bottom, his hand spreads with sure conviction and his fingers press into her, tilting her hips and catching on a sweet spot he’s felt a thousand or more times. “Yes, that’s it!” She is shuddering and feels a sense of triumph. “Now Claire, I must feel you on my cock!”

 

He laughs in delight when she breaks and the joy of pleasing her is his undoing. He comes hard, unable to stem the force of it, bathing her over and over and struggling for breath.  

 

They are quiet for long enough that he wonders if they have dozed but the moon is still high in the sky when he glances out of the window. Not long then. He is spooning her, he can feel the wetness leaking down her thighs. His or hers he doesn’t know. John is himself again and yet he cannot help touching her, running his hands down the long lines of hip and thigh, over the ribs that poke out of her too thin frame. She’d wanted no tenderness before but craves being held in the aftermath.

 

She has one hand in his and reaches her other one back to grip his ass and nuzzle her bottom against him. He kisses a pulse point at the back of her ear and flicks her earlobe. She boldly brings his hands to her center. He brushes a finger through the wetness there and then traces her hard nipples, wondering if he should lick them clean.

 

The thought makes him half hard and she starts to gyrate against him, her lush bottom moving of its own accord. Her ass is distinctly feminine and he finds he cannot pretend she is his beloved so he closes his eyes trying desperately to recapture the feeling of Jamie inside his body, but it is too late. He is gone. That thought makes him want to weep.

 

“Please.” She whispers.

 

John senses the same chasm threatening to swallow her as well. John shimmies his body down low. He grabs her ass and spreads her cheeks, giving her a long, thoughtful lick all along the crease. Then he lifts one slender thigh, parting it and pokes his head up from between her legs. He inhales. So does she. His tongue dips inside her and he tastes them, smells the mingled scents and it is enough. He tastes Jamie on her, in her, both of them now spilling out of her. He licks Jamie’s essence, moaning at the taste.

 

He sinks his fingers deep into her as he flicks his tongue on her clit. He knows exactly how to curl his index finger inside of her because Jamie is with him once more. He sees that cocky grin and hears the rumble of his good-natured chuckle. His slanted eyes narrow as he, too breaths in the mingled scent of their sex. His full, red lips open in a pant and John longs to kiss them. They are sharing their wife. Together.

 

He imagines Jamie’s long, strong fingers sliding into Claire, entwined with his. He cries out in surprise when he feels Jamie’s wide tongue flattening along Claire’s slit and deliberately swirling against John’s knuckles. Mouth gone dry, John pulls his fingers out and pushes them forward, grazing accidentally along the rough stubble of his cheek, the red peppered here and there now with gray. Jamie rears back trying to focus and holds John’s hand steady. He opens wide, sucking them firmly into his mouth, stroking and licking each moistened digit. John groans loudly unable to stop the sound from his throat and Jamie is humming appreciatively.

 

“Yer in fine form tonight, Sassenach.” Jamie compliments after his tasting.

 

Claire laughs, quite pleased.  John watches as her head lowers toward Jamie’s cock. Her lips slide over him and he hisses. They both watch as Jamie presses his large hands on the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her curls. He and Claire are both moaning so loudly that they don’t hear John panting, too. He and Jamie stare avidly as she bobs and sucks.

 

“You aren’t so bad yourself, Mr. Fraser.” She returns as she comes off of him with a pop.

 

John reaches a finger into her cleft from behind and presses it upward with sure precision. Claire backs her ass harder into it, urging him deeper. The rest of his hand cups her mound. Jamie is watching John’s fingers now. John is looking at Jamie’s slickened cock, licking his lips, Claire’s buttery brown eyes miss nothing.

 

“Tell me, my own, what shall John and I do to please you tonight?” Jamie asks on a breathless, post-kiss inquiry.

 

“I think John might have some ideas.” Claire gestures with her chin. Jamie looks pointedly down at his length and then at John’s trembling, open mouth.

 

“Does he, now?”

 

Jamie makes a _be my guest_ gesture that has John dropping to his knees in an instant. Hand still firmly occupied with Claire he moans as his lips taste Jamie for the first time. He made an inhuman moan as his tongue slid against the underside of Jamie. He nearly weeps in gratitude when he feels the hand that had been grasped in Claire’s hair tighten on his own. He can hear the soft noises being pulled from them both. John feels powerful as if he is the conductor and they are playing his tune.

 

The world flips upside-down and places are changer then those strong fingers are spreading his cheeks, he rears back as a firm, slick tongue circles his rear.  A mouth caresses his balls, one at a time. His cock is being sucked now and he hollows out his own cheeks in earnest and in time to the rhythm being set on him. He is chanting something incoherently as a wet finger slides into him. His cock is surrounded by moist heat, so good. One finger is joined by another and the strike on his prostate makes his lips go numb.

 

“Ye like it John?" Jamie asks breathless.

 

“God, yes!” He pants.

 

Claire is making more noises and he doubles his efforts, moving his fingers even faster.

 

Someone gags and lips clench around the base of his cock, he increases his own suction in response. He pushes his hips back in time to those beautiful fingers so expertly fucking him.

 

Claire’s thighs squeeze his hand, trapping it. He feels the hand on his head pressing him deeper, forcing the air from his lungs.  She climaxes on a whimper, rolling her hips, drawing out every twitch and shudder.

 

His cock flares. The fingers stretch and reward him, scissoring and thrusting in a pulse that invades his blood stream.  He’s too close to stop it.

 

“I’m coming!” He warns. He hears Jamie calling to him now.

 

“John, oh God! I need ye!” With a final forceful movement, John feels Jamie’s release, shaking and moaning as he spills.

 

Now fully awake, John has returned fully to himself. She speaks first and that grounds him, allows him the time to compose himself. He wonders if she felt Jamie’s presence last night, too. He realizes the better question would be whether she felt his own presence last night at all. She’d likely had her own reckoning to contend with, facing for herself the “who am I, who is he and what did I do?”


End file.
